 I don't know what's happening, but I've got to go. I've got to
make something happen. I'm sick of being confused and feeling
like an outsider. I've been with him all this time, and I still
don't understand what he says, what he does--washing our feet,
him of all people.
I can still feel those hands of his on my feet. I can still hear
him say, "He who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me."
Heel? Feet? What did he mean by that? I don't understand what
he does and what he says. Then he said, "Truly, truly, one of
you will betray me." Does he mean me? What does he know?
"Truly, truly!" How many times have I heard that! That's what
they're all buzzing about, but I'm not like them. I caught what
he said before that: "Truly, truly, I say to you, he who receives
any one whom I send receives me."
I heard that--but what did he mean about "sending" and "betraying?"
I couldn't get it all; the ones closest to him, that inner circle,
they could hear. He might have been whispering just to them, for
all I can tell.
Does he mean me? Is he sending me? Is this odd man out or something
else?
Then he dipped that piece of bread into the sauce, gave it to
me, and said, "What you are going to do, do quickly." You can
see how hard it is to understand him. Was he honoring me or was
something else going on? Was he singling me out? And for what?
"What you do, do quickly!"
Do what? I don't know what I'm going to do, but I know something
has to be done. I know I couldn't have stayed there another minute.
He'll never treat me that way again. No more meals, no more shame.
"The poor you always have with you." Mary and her ointment and
hair. No more singling out, no more shame, no more not understanding.
I've had enough. No more cold, loneliness; no more dark. No more
not understanding.
I understand this much. I feel more alive right now than I've
ever felt. I feel something I've never felt before. I feel a surge
of energy. I may not understand him, but I know what I feel.
Every sense is sharp:
--my feet still feel moist from washing
--my fingers still feel moist from the sauce on the bread
--my tongue still tasting the red wine
--I feel the cool night air on my skin
--I see the stars and the Passover fires
--I can even hear the coins jingle
Did they hear them? Did they guess? No, those clods were too busy
whispering to each other, "Lord, who is it?" Is what? I despise
them. They're so stupid that if they even noticed, they probably
thought it was our money, not the money the others gave me. And
they're the ones I'm going to. Something's got to be done. I understand
that much.
"Quickly," he said. "Well, all right then, I'll give him 'quickly.'"
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